


Ineffable Pains

by super_rainbow2021



Series: NaNoWriMo 2019 [18]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Crowley Whump, M/M, Whump, but he's a demon and a snake so the heat is mostly manageable, character whump, i am so soft for these two i can't even, im so sorry crowley, ineffable husbands, poor baby, the Fall burns him constantly, until its not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2020-08-12 23:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20164426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/super_rainbow2021/pseuds/super_rainbow2021
Summary: [Crowley] remembers his Fall (Vaguely Downward Saunter) and he remembers the burning pain and the gagging stench of sulfur and how he wanted to tear his eyes out as they changed and the look on Lucifer’s face, like he was proud of him for following him, for Falling, and then he’d crawled out of the ground to find himself face to face with a Guardian of the Gates of Eden.





	Ineffable Pains

**Author's Note:**

> or, they save the world and the night after, Crowley awakes with a start to his wings burning. But he's used to that.

He tries to stay quiet, he really does, but the pain starts suddenly, a sharp knife in his shoulders. The burning pain licks at his back right where his wings lie behind the human realm and makes his hands shake and his teeth clench and he wants to laugh and cry because of course it has to happen on this night, _of course_ it has to happen when Aziraphale lays next to him, asleep for the first time in at least a century, after the world _didn’t_ end, right when they have a moment to _breathe. _Metaphorically, because they don’t _need_ to breathe, and he holds his lungs still so he doesn’t cry out and disturb his angel’s precious slumber. The stabbing pain dulls to pinpoint pricks along his entire upper back but the fire burns steady, like lit coals are being pressed right against the roots of his wings, and he supposes that isn’t too farfetched to think, because he remembers his Fall (Vaguely Downward Saunter) and he remembers the burning pain and the gagging stench of sulfur and how he wanted to tear his eyes out as they changed and the _look o_n Lucifer’s face when he’d finally managed to unfurl from his fetus position on a cold, cold stone floor, like he was _proud_ of him for following him, for Falling, how he’d shoved him in an office and gave him a desk and said _“Now we wait for Her to do something. She’s been talking about a garden for quite some time,” _and then he’d been able to turn into a snake and he crawled out of the ground to find himself in a beautiful garden and saw an even more beautiful angel guarding the Gates of Eden. He gasps a little and his hands shake and he writhes on his dark bedsheets and he thanks his (<strike>planned</strike> accidental) foresight to fall asleep on his stomach so he doesn’t wriggle uncontrollably and roll over onto his angel - _because he doesn’t sleep often and he wants him to enjoy it while he can_ \- so he can clutch at his dark pillow and bite into it to muffle whatever sounds manage to escape his throat. He wonders for a fleeting moment if he should open his wings and let them breathe a bit or if it’ll make any sort of difference in the sodding pain in his back, but he knows (and has known, for a long time) that nothing can rid the pain except time and patience (the latter of which he, admittedly, lacks considerably) so he bites down hard enough into his pillow that he can hear the stitches tearing and the fabric protesting but he thinks the pain is receding just a bit and wouldn’t that be a relief if it was-

“Crowley?”

The demon jerks at the sound of a sleepy Aziraphale and he quakes as the bed moves when the angel sits up and rubs at his eyes. His claws have come out and he’s sure his pillow is a goner but it’s nothing he can’t fix later, after all, and his eyes burn where he’s scrunched them up tight as he can and he thinks he’s panting harshly but he can’t recall for the life of him when he started breathing again-

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeats, settling a gentle hand on his fiery hair and Crowley can’t help but jerk again, this time into the touch, and he keens lowly in the back of his throat. Slowly, so slowly, he releases the pillow from his now-fanged mouth and licks his chapped lips, turning ever so slightly to look up at Aziraphale. He makes a questioning noise as his body spasms again when the sulfuric fire dances across his shoulder blades and up into his neck. “Oh, my dear,” the angel mutters, stroking Crowley’s head so gently as the demon suffers once again for his Fall.

“S’okay,” he manages to say through clenched teeth, eyes fluttering just a bit as he tries to turn more towards his angel. “M’fine.”

“You are not,” Aziraphale retorts, but he says it so softly while his hand keeps stroking Crowley’s hair, and his blue eyes reflect that softness. “Come here,” he speaks, and ends up pulling Crowley into his lap when his limbs won’t cooperate. The spasms are lessening, the fire cooling to a boil rather than an impossible inferno, and the blessed angel holds his head into his neck with one hand, whispering soft things into his ear, while the other strokes his lower back. Which is good, the hand on his lower back (and all of it, certainly, not that he’ll say it), because if that healing touch moved anywhere near the origin of the pain Crowley thinks he might just pass out again, maybe for a year if he’s lucky. He takes a deep breath (despite not needing to) as Aziraphale’s divine healing does its job, the painful shivering now welcomed (an angel healing a demon is always painful, but it can be done, unlike vice versa- and they’d found that out the hard way) and eventually Crowley can move his arms to wrap around Aziraphale’s middle. In lieu of a thanks, Crowley noses up Aziraphale’s neck and breathes out in a puff. Mercifully, the angel doesn’t say anything as the pain recedes fully (for now) and Crowley enjoys the few minutes of blissful silence.

“So,” Aziraphale then says, and Crowley almost groans, “I’ll listen if you want to talk. Or we can go back to sleep.”

Thank Someone for this amazing, gorgeous, understanding celestial being that Crowley still has no idea how he’s managed to keep, for giving him an option. He inhales a bit and presses himself ever closer to his angel. “The burn of the Fall,” he says, not looking up, “I still feel it sometimes. Like tonight. ’s sudden, stays for a bit. ’s painful.” He clears his throat softly and wets his lips. “It’s usually fine. A little pain never hurt anyone. I can handle it. But sometimes … it gets like that. Every now and then.” One of his (now clawless) hands clutches the back of Aziraphale’s nightshirt and he burrows further into his neck.

“How often?” the angel asks, once again mercifully understanding.

“Sometimes,” Crowley says. “Couple times a week, not much. M’fine, angel, promise.”

“If you say so.” But he doesn’t let go, and neither does Crowley, and Aziraphale slowly nudges them back down so they’re laying in the bed once more. He doesn’t move Crowley off his stomach and Crowley thanks him for it, pressing a kiss to the angel’s jaw. He dozes sporadically through the rest of the night and into the early morning, but Aziraphale stays awake as his vigilant guardian angel, and wasn’t he always this? Yes, he deicides, he’s always been there for Crowley and he always will be, for as long as he’ll have him.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m saltycaramelnut on tumblr, send me prompts! i do mostly gen fluff and angst.
> 
> (march 6, 2020) thank you all so much for over 100 kudos!! that means so much to me you don’t even know.


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